


Oddities and Lifetimes

by Sipsthytea



Series: The Witcher and the Bard [16]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Coffee Shops, Emotionally Constipated Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, M/M, Reincarnation, jaskier is a singer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-21
Updated: 2020-07-21
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:08:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25418980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sipsthytea/pseuds/Sipsthytea
Summary: Geralt encounters a stranger, but he feels...not so strange.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: The Witcher and the Bard [16]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1671085
Comments: 6
Kudos: 51





	Oddities and Lifetimes

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoy this!!🥰

Lifetimes.

It felt as if Geralt had known him for lifetimes. 

Years echoed within the forgotten waves of his memory was this stranger. This stranger sat away from him, drowned in a bright blue bomber jacket, patches with dandelions, buttercups, and rocketships pressed onto the fabric. Ripped blue jeans showing slivers of his skin, cuffed above the (obviously) handpainted covers. A hand sat comfortably in his hair, fingers ghosting the back of his head. Rings glittered in the light of the cafe, nothing blinding, but beautiful. Wide-circled glasses, slipping down his nose bridge, the yellow tinted lenses, shaded his eyes as they heald a pesky glare.

This stranger that sat hunched over a book, pen twirling in his hand, maneuvering awkwardly around the field of rings. Worrying his bottom lip with his teeth, fingers fussing at a stray piece of hair. 

This stranger that had a bag slung comfortably around his chair, guarding the spot against being seated at. At his feet, a white guitar case, along the body, a name etched in loopy cursive, ‘Jaskier.’

That name, it was something that made his head ring with forgotten memories of forests, dimly light rooms with overzealous people, gold coins. It reminded him of something lost in time. Something he was sure he hadn’t meant to forget. 

Memories of heartbreak, of the rushing sounds of the coast, bitter endings. Sunlight and bleachers, adrenaline and tears. 

That name means something. 

But before Geralt can ask, the stranger is standing. Shuffling his pen and notebook into his back, a finger pushing his glasses up. With a sigh, he reaches down towards the case. As he bends, a pendant falls free from his shirt. It’s iron, a heavy chunk of metal that hangs from his neck. It’s too far away for him to tell of what, but it looks worn, an heirloom probably. 

As the stranger walks out, he stops, eyebrows scrunching together, and he turns. Eyes sweeping over the mostly empty cafe, hand tightening on his guitar strap when he spots Geralt. 

There’s something that passes over his face, something undetectable. It’s almost...ancient. The look of resignation mixed with one of confusion, but the stranger just smiles. Shaking his head with a snort and turns to leave. Only giving Geralt one last look before he’s out the door.

A strange emotion passes through Geralt, one he hasn’t ever known. One he doesn’t know if he wants to know. 

And in his pocket, buried beneath his wallet, his keychain feels like it’s pulsing. Thudding with unknown life. 

He reaches for it, listening to the familiar rattle of keys and his fingers worked them to the side. Eventually, a pendant falls into his palm. 

It’s an encased flower, a buttercup he’s been told. It’s frozen, a frozen memory preserved in Geralt’s family for generations. His great grandmother gave it to him as she approached her death bed. Old hands trembling as she pressed it to his palm, rambling on and on about ‘not losing the flower. Keeping the flower.’ It was something he chalked up to a woman in her dying hours trying to make sense of the regrets in her life. Something he never gave much thought to.

Hm, odd.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed this cute little fic!  
> Don’t be shy, leave me a comment on your thoughts, corrections, or things you’d like to read in the future.  
> [psa: comments keep me motivated and help me know that my work is being read and seen, so, please:) no pressure 🥺💕]


End file.
